


Party To A Kiss

by hutchabelle



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Dancing, Denial of Feelings, Eggnog, F/M, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Office Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/pseuds/hutchabelle
Summary: Written for the prompt: Katniss and Peeta are both in denial about their feelings. At a Christmas party, they're trying to avoid mistletoe at all costs. However, all their friends or co-workers are trying their best to get the two of them to just kiss already.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen & Peeta Mellark, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 29
Kudos: 111
Collections: The Hunger Games 2019 Season of Hope Holiday Gift Exchange





	Party To A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colleenegan25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colleenegan25/gifts).



> Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy my take on your prompt. I had a lot of fun writing this one.

**_9:32 a.m._ **

“I don’t want to go to the party, Madge,” Katniss grumbles. She’s had a really rough day, and the last thing she wants to do is hang out after hours and pretend to care about the holidays with every single person in her office.

“Too bad,” her way too perky and energetic co-worker sing-songs. “Attendance is mandatory. The rumor is year-end bonuses will be handed out there, so you have to come.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

The problem is Katniss knows she doesn’t really have a choice. Christmas parties at Panem Industries are part of the “experience” of working in one of the most sought-after jobs in the city. It’s practically written into employee contracts, which she’s cursing herself for signing.

“I bet Hottie McHotStuff will be there,” Madge teases, and Katniss immediately wants to hide under her desk.

She sniffs imperiously and insists, “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do,” Madge says with a barely restrained giggle. “I really, really, really think you do.”

“Shut up, Madge,” Katniss mutters and flushes a deep shade she doesn’t want to acknowledge.

Because really. Peeta Mellark, fellow Panem Industries employee and all-around good guy, is one of the most intriguing people she’s ever met. That, however, does not mean she’s into him, thank you very much. Not even a little bit. It just means she can see what’s right in front of her. Duh.

“So, I’ll see you at the party.”

She glares at Madge and nods. She’s too irritated to properly respond.

_____

**_10:37 a.m._ **

“I don’t want to go,” Peeta states stubbornly and ignores Finnick who’s fluttering around like the social butterfly he is. “I have other stuff to do.”

“Like what? Sitting at home pouting and wallowing in misery?”

Peeta glares at his colleague and rolls his eyes at the playful wink he receives. Finnick is an incorrigible flirt. He’s only tempered slightly by his fiancée Annie, one of Peeta’s favorite people at the company.

“Things you wouldn’t understand.”

“Things like moping over Katniss Everdeen and how she’s so pretty and wonderful and you love her but she won’t give you the time of day?”

Peeta stands up and walks away. He has to, or he might punch his friend in the face. Katniss is off limits. And he doesn’t love her. Not exactly. He just admires her plucky spirit and beauty and amazing singing voice he overheard by happy accident two years ago and hasn’t been able to get out of is head since. Sadly, he turns to stone around her and can’t say a word. Well, at least not after a few minutes. The last thing he wants is to be at a party and stand like a mute statue instead of a flesh and blood human man with all sorts of—

Yeah, never mind. He’s not going. That has nothing to do with the heat in his veins at the moment. His decision is logical, not emotional.

Yes, it is.

It is.

Peeta locks himself in a restroom stall for several minutes. He’d breathe deeply, but it’s a bathroom. It’s not exactly calming either way. When he’s got his emotions under control, he heads back to his desk and pointedly ignores everyone around him.

_____

**_12:07 p.m._ **

Katniss heads to the cafeteria because she’s a moron who forgot her lunch. No lunch. Forced into a party she doesn’t want to attend. Unrequited crush on a— Nope! That’s not true. No crush. Just healthy, reasonable feelings about another person who is clearly a nice guy. He brings baked goods way more often than anyone else in the office. That’s quality content right there.

“Oh, hi, Katniss.”

The voice comes from behind, and she twirls clumsily and stumbles into a counter. Peeta Mellark reaches out a hand and steadies her, but that electric shock she feels is definitely from the static in the air and absolutely not from him touching her.

“Peeta!” she squeaks. “Uh, hi.”

“Going to the party tonight?”

She makes a face, and his lips twitch in what would likely be a full-fledged laugh if she wasn’t awkward and strange and some sort of repulsive force to all men. Her gut twists painfully. It must be from lack of food and definitely not from feelings. Those are not her thing. She’s way too analytical for that.

“Kinda have to, don’t I? If I want my bonus, that is.”

Peeta curses softly, and she watches as the tips of his ears tinge slightly pink.

“I forgot about the bonus thing. Now, I have to come.”

Katniss blinks at him, and he turns and leaves the cafeteria without another word. Not even a goodbye. If she actually did like him, she’d be offended, but since male attention is the last thing she ever gets, she takes it in stride and picks up a chef salad. She’s halfway to the register before she chucks it back in the cooler and orders a bacon cheeseburger and a double order of fries—extra crispy, please—from the grill.

She eats, miserably alone, without thinking about how good Peeta’s ass looked earlier. Not one thought about it. He’s just a colleague. Nothing more. They’re not even friends.

_____

**_2:38 p.m._ **

****

“You. Are. An. Idiot.”

It’s got to be the fifteenth millionth time he’s muttered that to himself since lunch, and he deserves it a billion times more.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Bread Boy?”

Johanna Mason stops at this desk and appraises him carefully. He stifles a groan and shakes his head. She’s not one to try to bullshit, and he isn’t ready to admit to himself how much he likes Kat— Dislikes. That’s what he doesn’t want to admit. He dislikes being tongue-tied. Yes. That’s the problem.

“Why do you call me Bread Boy?”

Peeta’s pleased with his deflection. He doesn’t have to answer, and he makes Johanna grin.

“You make the best banana bread I’ve ever had, and you have great buns.”

He groans internally, and she grips his bicep before walking down the hall. He’s going to have to figure out how to avoid her at the party tonight or he might get groped. Which would be okay if it was someone else doing it.

“Hey, Mellark,” he mutters again. “You’re still an idiot. Groping’s not appropriate. Get it together.”

With that, he concentrates on his project and shoves unwanted Christmas party invites and a certain silver-eyed brunette from his mind. He’s only partially successful.

_____

**_4:37 p.m._ **

****

“Wrap it up, Everdeen,” Madge urges as she sweeps by Katniss’ desk. “Boss man says we can knock off early if we help decorate.”

Katniss scrambles to file her paperwork, clear off her desk, and power down the computer. “Are you serious?” When her friend nods, she asks, “How bad can that be? I’m in!”

An hour later, she’s cursing her stupid voluntary spirit. Her fingers ache from tying balloons, glitter obstructs her vision as it clings to her lashes, and she’s wearing the most hideous Christmas sweater known to man. And women. Aliens, too, if they exist. Worse than that, there’s mistletoe everywhere.

Is that even appropriate? At a company Christmas party? Holiday party. What. Ever.

“Thank the good elf and the Santa he serves this thing has free alcohol.”

Other employees start to trickle in, and Madge and she make their way to the bar to take advantage. The dinner buffet is scheduled to begin promptly at 6:00 pm, so they have time to get in at least one drink, possibly two, before the merriment officially begins. They both accept a mug of some sort of Christmas concoction and down it in a few minutes. By the time they’re halfway through their second, Katniss doesn’t want to claw her own skin off and has convinced herself she might have a good time—if she can avoid the mistletoe that seems to be hovering surreptitiously over her head, no matter where she goes.

With a third drink clutched in her left hand, she circles the room. She’s halfway through her second round when she realizes she’s watching Peeta. Continuously. And counting the number of times he receives cheek kisses from eager female (and a few male) co-workers who catch him with green leaves and red berries hanging over his head. There should be a joke in there somewhere, but she’s too tired to figure out what it is.

Seriously, though. Mistletoe is a parasite. Why are we kissing under it?

She laughs internally at her grumpy observation because that’s so something her father would have said. Back before—

She stops that train of thought immediately with another sip of her drink and finds a corner where she can observe and not mingle. It’s better that way.

_____

**_6:52 p.m._ **

Peeta’s spent the past hour dodging every over-sexed female, and some male, colleague and trying to convince himself he’s not looking for Katniss. And failing absolutely miserably. There’s so much mistletoe (Why? It’s a parasite.), and he’s slightly disappointed that the only person he really wants to see (except he doesn’t!) is missing when there are ample opportunities to excuse friendly kisses from one Panem Industries employee to another.

He finds himself at the bar and orders a drink. It’s some sort of frothy, creamy something, and he closes his eyes at the aftertaste of rum that burns in his mouth and down his throat. It’s quite nice, actually. He orders another.

Time slows, and he lets himself enjoy hanging out with his co-workers, listening to their bosses announce door prizes (complete with Haymitch teasing Effie for her seriousness), and taking advantage of the food and beverages. Adult beverages. Libations, if you will.

The dancing starts, and he watches, amused, as the highly uncoordinated, slightly inebriated, and mostly white employees bump and grind on the dance floor. They are terrible. He notices a few spouses among the familiar faces, and he pushes down longing for something. Something that has to do with Katniss. Who he’s decided to stop denying he really, really likes.

Where. The Hell. Is She?

_____

**_8:04 p.m._ **

Katniss is drunk. Or tipsy. Probably drunk. Definitely drunk, and Madge has pulled her onto the dance floor. She’s shaking her booty and downing the very scrumptious Christmas punch that keeps appearing in her hand and wondering why she ever wanted to avoid this party?

Haymitch and Effie—Hayffie, she’s decided to call them because that is A Very Clever Idea—

She is full of Very Clever Ideas, thank you very much.

What was she saying?

Right.

Hayffie.

Hayffie passed out the bonus checks a half hour ago, and she almost left, but then she’d have to stop drinking the Christmas punch, and why would she do that because it’s so good, and she is so happy and tired and glad to have a good job and friends and people she likes to see on a daily basis and Peeta is here somewhere with his pink cheeks and blonde curls and piercing blue eyes that she swears can see right through her clothes and there is dancing and more punch and her feet hurt so so so much.

“I’m going to get more drink!” Katniss yells over the music to Madge, who nods, and then she makes her way with only a stumble or five to the bar where she indicates she wants another one.

“You look like you’re having fun.”

She whips around. Again. Second time today. To find Peeta Mellark looking at her with a loopy grin on his face. Rum splashes over her hand and onto the front of her black shirt. Wait. No. She changed into an ugly Christmas sweater that’s not her own. It doesn’t matter one iota if it gets dirty.

Dirty.

That’s where her mind is because Peeta Mellark is gorgeous. All glowy and sparkly and larger than life.

“I am,” she agrees and laughs. Because she can, and she stopped caring about laughing about five drinks and one bonus check ago. It’s big enough she can pay off two bills and sock the rest away for a rainy day and still have some leftover for something nice that’s not needed and exists only to make her happy.

She wishes he wanted to make her happy.

“Come with me,” she orders and pulls him onto the dance floor where the music has just changed to a slow song with a heavy bass beat that practically orders those moving to it to wrap their arms around each other and grind their hips slowly together.

And his arms are around her. And his hips are moving with hers. And she’s draped over him. And he feels so very good. And she wants to stay like this forever. I’ll allow it.

The tempo changes, and bodies separate and gyrate. Heat rises. Sweat pours from her because she’s wearing a sweater on a dance floor. Peeta doesn’t leave.

_____

**_9:56 p.m._ **

****

Katniss stopped drinking an hour ago, but they keep dancing. She’s sobering up. He can tell by the way her eyes brighten from metal gray to platinum. She hasn’t pulled away yet, though, and he doesn’t want to jinx it. He won’t let more than a few inches separate them. He won’t until she indicates she’s done and wants her space.

She doesn’t say anything, though, and he’s about to lose his damn mind.

Who knew anyone could be so incredibly sexy with glitter on her eyelashes and wearing an oversized ugly Christmas sweater and black leggings that hug her lithe thighs and smooth calves? And when she danced and pressed her butt into his groin, he might have seen Heaven. If Heaven means excruciatingly painful repression of sexual desire.

A few more songs play, and she finally wipes her brow and smiles at him. When she nods her head, he follows her off the floor and into a semi-private section in the back of the room. She turns to fully face him, and he holds his breath. It’s felt a little bit like a dream, and he doesn’t want the evening to end—even though it’s later than he planned to stay. Way later. But when the woman of your dreams shows up to the party and drags you onto the dance floor, you don’t walk away.

“Thanks for hanging with me tonight,” she says, and he can only nod stupidly. She motions him closer, and he takes a half-step forward. Before he knows it, she’s kissing him.

Her lips are soft and full and insistent, and her tongue tastes like honey and rum and cinnamon. Her body’s pressed against his. Her fingers curl in his hair. Her hand lazily strokes his side before resting on his abs. Smoke might come out his ears, and he groans into her mouth. They kiss like the other is the oxygen they breathe, and it’s only when the lights come back up that he realizes they’ve been locked together for ten solid minutes and the party’s come to an end.

“Holy hell,” he breathes when they separate, and he watches as she licks her lip and gives him an impish grin.

“You know mistletoe’s a parasite, right?”

He nods dumbly before stammering, “N-never c-could underst-stand why people kiss under it.”

She chuckles and points up.

“Because it’s there.”

“Huh. Sure enough.”

“Just a little something extra from Panem Industries to thank us for excellent work throughout the year.”

He has enough sense to kiss her again before asking for her phone number. He doesn’t make it more than halfway home before he leans against the door of the cab and sends her a text.

_P: Dinner soon?_

_K: How about tomorrow night?_

God bless Panem Industries’ mandatory Christmas parties. And Christmas bonuses.

Especially the bonus of well-placed parasites at a company party.


End file.
